Since thou hast not, O
Lord, left me to lie
A
scorn to foes in my o'erwhelmèd right,
but has exalted up my head on high,
Of thee my song shall be, and of thy might.
When I cried for thy all-relieving aid,
thou didst restore to joy my sad distress;
When at the
grave my
soul for entrance stayed,
From grave thou didst return my heaviness.
O sing, therefore, due
praises to the Lord;
You blessed
saints, do you his praises sing.
Do you the holiness with thanks record,
Which doth belong to this our heavenly King.
For he no long time doth his
ire prolong,
His frowning
wrath within a while is dead,
When then, as if he'd dome me
wretch a wrong,
In 's smiling brow glad life is picturèd.
This did my whining life endure awhile,
Whilst th'earth was buried with an evening's shade;
But when the morning's light began to smile,
My joy did come, and all my
woe did fade.
And when things flowèd to my full content,
And blind prosperity on me attended,
'Now shall these joys',
quoth I, 'which
God hath sent,
Now shall these lasting joys be never ended.'
'For thou, dear Lord, ev'n thou of tender love,
And of that goodness which doth dwell in thee,
As with a mountain which can never move
Stand fast about the moving state of me.'
Therewith he turned his milder face aside,
And all with turnèd thoughts bestead was I;
And every thought a world of woes
implied,
Which strainèd forth from me this
doleful cry:
'Ah, Lord! if to the ground down sunk I were,
What price is in my blood to profit thee?
If thou disrobe me of th'earth's
attire I wear,
Can thy great praises then be sung by me?'
'O can the mute and the untonguèd dust,
Which in th'eternal house of death doth dwell,
Consum'd with worms and ever-eating rust, --
O can the dust of thy great
glories tell?'
'O hear me then, O Lord! O Lord, me hear,
And send some mercies, Lord, some mercies send;
O let thy saving health
betimes appear,
And give my woes unto a happy end.'
'But thou hast turned about my
mourning song;
New tunes of joy have drownèd up my sadness,
And for the sack which shrouded me so long,
Thou has clothed my soul with never-wearing
gladness.'
--
Michael Coswarth (
1590)